


DeanxReader Morning Fluff One-Shot

by StatisticallyCorrupt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AC/DC - Freeform, Coffee, Implies a Sexual Relationship, One-Shot, Other, Otherwise Fluffy, Zeppelin - Freeform, morning fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StatisticallyCorrupt/pseuds/StatisticallyCorrupt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're with Dean, to put it straight. No labels. And you've had a great night. The morning dawns bright and new, and Dean's not in your bed when you wake up. Where could he be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	DeanxReader Morning Fluff One-Shot

You blink your eyes awake, yawning, stretching, your toes curling into the sheets kicked to the foot of the bed. Sunlight filters into the room, illuminating the cozy space - the hard wood furniture and the soft carpeting, the big bed beneath you with its plush comforter and the downy pillows and - and the severe lack of Dean Winchester. 

Normally after a night like last night you wake up with him sprawled on his stomach, one arm tossed affectionately over your stomach, his face half-buried in his pillow, the freckles trailing over the skin of his back illuminated by the late morning sunlight pouring through the blinds. It's unusual to find the bed empty besides yourself, and you shove down the rising feeling of dread in your stomach. Dean has to be okay. You'd have woken up if something had gone down. Dean's just in the bathroom or something. Yeah. Nothing to worry about. 

You stand up and grab a shirt from the floor, the one furthest from the bed and likely the cleanest, and turn it right side out. It's Dean's favorite AC/DC shirt, the Back in Black one. You slip it on, not bothering with underwear or pants. It falls nearly to knees regardless, and you know Dean loves it when you wear nothing but his shirts. 

Silently, you push the bedroom door open, padding out into the hallway and down the steps. You stretch your arms behind you again, cracking your back and shoulders. You reach the last stair, and the scent of bacon sizzling on a frying pan floods your nose as you step into the welcoming warmth of a kitchen in use. Dean’s bustling about at the stove, wearing only a pair of ratty old sweatpants riding low on his hips, the expanse of his bare back exposed to you, the muscles in his shoulders working as he flips over the bacon, stirs the scrambled eggs. He's humming under his breath - you recognize it as Zeppelin - and he hasn't heard you come down the stairs yet. 

You sneak up behind him with a smile, pressing your chest to his back and wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your nose against his warm skin. For just a second he'd tensed, those hunter instincts kicking in, but then he's turning in your arms and kissing your forehead, murmuring your name into your hair. 

Dean, never the one for chick-flick moments, is the first one to pull back, running an anxious hand through his sexy bedhead hair. "I, uh, I made you breakfast," he mutters, dishing out the eggs and bacon onto two plates. "I thought you might be hungry." 

You laugh as you pull out a chair at the table. "After last night? Of course I'm hungry." 

Dean smirks and hands you a coffee mug, going back to his humming, pouring his own coffee. Black and tasteless as cigarette ash, per usual. You take a sip from your mug - just how you like it. Dean knows you so well. 

You're about to dig into your food, but the tune Dean's humming is nagging at the corner of your mind. You can't eat until you know you have it right. You pause, your fork hovering over a pile of scrambled eggs. "All My Love?" 

Dean lifts his head, smiling at you across the table, opening his beautiful mouth to sing. " Yours is the cloth, mine is the hand that sews time / his is the force that lies within / Ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find / He is a feather in the wind..." He stands up, coming around to your side of the table and pulling you out of the chair, lifting you up into his arms, kissing you square on the lips, "All of my love, all of my love / All of my love to you." 

 

Somehow you end up back in the bedroom, your breakfast forgotten, but you don't really mind. Dean's half-awake beside you, playing with the ends of your hair, the fingers of his other hand dancing across your spine. He snorts, and you turn to see what he'd been looking at over your shoulder. 

His AC/DC tee has once again been thrown haphazardly across the room. This time, when Dean had barely taken the time to lift it over your head and toss it out of the way, it had landed on a corner of the dresser, the logo displayed for Dean to see.

"It's too bad," he says now, snuggling closer to press soft, chaste kisses against the base of your neck, "you looked incredibly sexy in my shirt." 

His mouth trails down over your shoulder, tracing the line of your bones. "Oh well. You look even better out of it." 

You laugh and smack Dean playfully on the arm, and his green eyes flash in the now bright noon light, his plush pink lips pulled up into the kind of smile you haven't seen him display in years.


End file.
